


Rend

by Menirva



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: BSDM, Bondage, D/s, M/M, Manipulation, Some questionable consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3649992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menirva/pseuds/Menirva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barsad needs something to pass the time. John just needs something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rend

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by (but vastly deviating from) Velifcante's beautiful Violent Games AU. Found here. http://velificantes.tumblr.com/post/61817356635/lets-say-youve-swallowed-a-bad-thing-and-now

It was completely unfair, and against any carefully laid out rules and limits that Barsad had set for himself. John was in too deep to argue coherently with any command he gave, flying high with blown pupils and pants for breath that made his entire body tremble like a baby doe. Barsad didn't care. It was too important.

His hand squeezed down on his throat, drawing a wheeze before John thrashed under him."Swear it, John. Tell me what I wish to hear." His fingers loosened to allow a response.

"S-Sir." John swallowed roughly under Barsad's fingers. "I have a shift. I can't." The scowl given nearly made John flinch, too raw to face such a disapproval.

Barsad could not care less about some shift at one of the side jobs John had picked up to keep food on his table, and tomorrow it wouldn't matter. "You will. You are going to stay the night," the hand not grasping the column of his throat traced tenderly across his cheek as he sweetened the deal with a lie, "with me. And I will keep you bound up, in the morning, for my amusement.”

There was a bit of a shine to John's soft brown eyes at the words. Barsad had never asked him to stay the night, had never spent a full day keeping him in bondage, and Barsad could feel how his prick tried to swell, trapped down against the curve of his jean-clad ass as Barsad straddled his hips.

"T-The night?" John swallowed hard, and Barsad almost felt a twinge of guilt for it, for taking advantage of how sweet and suggestible John was in his sub-space. He was so completely different from the rough, guarded city boy that used to come to the club and pretend it was just to look.

But it was needed; Barsad was going to keep this bit of sweetness in Gotham safe.

"The night. You _will_ stay for it." He kept his voice rough, no nonsense. In John's present state, it made his will and uncertainty crumble to pieces. He jerked his head quickly in agreement.

"Yes. Yes, sir." He sighed when he saw how Barsad's brows smoothed, the corners of his lips turning up into a small, pleased smile.

"Good boy." The words made John's body arch and ache for more of his touch. It was the most tenderness he'd given during a scene, and with it, John only craved more. Of course he did. As close as Barsad had let himself get with John, in many ways he had always kept his distance...

_____________

_"I'm not gay, kid."_

_"Oh." The lie seemed to nearly make the younger man jerk out of the bar stool, ready to vacate it and possibly the premises. "You could have told me. I wouldn't have wasted your time."_

_"Stop." Barsad ordered it, let the word snap out of him like the command it was. It was a test, one that the stranger passed, his body freezing on the bar stool and his eyes snapping over to him._

_He'd come into the bar with his shoulders hunched and his eyes dark. Half of the idiots who approached him didn't understand what he needed. He didn't want someone to go after him. He wanted to be lured, pulled in and given what he needed._

_Barsad had ordered a glass of beer and let it sit beside him on the scuffed counter. He waited until the boy’s eyes caught his. His longer fingers tapped the empty bar stool beside him twice, a clear order, and then he had turned back to his own drink, not waiting to see if he would be obeyed._

_He knew it would be, knew that the liquor would not be enough to get the boy drunk, but at least enough to calm the tightness in his shoulders. It had been, and that tension only returned now as Barsad was stared at. A deer in headlights, shame and embarrassment rolled off the boy in a cloying wave when he realized just how quickly he had obeyed._

_"It's not a waste of time if you don't let it be." Barsad turned in his stool to appraise him. A whole lot of raw potential was what he saw, and he could admit he wanted to take a crack at it. Celibacy had not been required, but it was his gift to his brother. However, twelve months of waiting in Gotham would surely be too slow for him not to stretch his interests in other ways._

_"It still would, if you're not..." The boy was confused by the concept._

_A throaty chuckle left him. "I enjoy someone else giving me power no matter what gender. I would reckon that most do. So long as you understand that I will not fuck you, then I do not mind you jerking yourself silly to the things I'm going to do to you."_

“ _Goi—” he stopped and cleared his throat. “Going to? I haven't agreed to anything, yet.”_

“ _And the fact that you have chosen to say 'yet', tells me all that I need to know.”_

_____________

And it had.

He had taken John to one of the backrooms that night, had covered his back in layers and layers of candle wax, watching him hiss and writhe as each fat drop had rolled down his smooth skin. It was an easy game, a warm up, something that only needed a quick safe word and some fire. John had panted as Barsad had finally peeled up the layers of wax from his skin, exposing the bright red tinge left behind. When he'd rolled over on the table, his eyes had been dazed and his prick had been swelling up in his jeans. Barsad's own hard on had been thankfully less obvious as he had run a hand through John's shortly cropped hair, made sure he came down ok, and gotten some water in him before he’d sent him home to his bed to rub one off to whatever little fantasy his mind would make of it. He had done the same.

John had not come back for weeks, had spooked himself by how much he had enjoyed even that small taste, ashamed of his own urges. Barsad had merely waited for him patiently, had accepted his nearly skittish slide into the bar stool beside him with a quiet nod before their next session. Barsad had offered what small advice he could, that there was no shame in John's desires, that many had a wish to serve, to have their control taken from them, to be played with. John was simply brave enough to face his fears and his desires.

They had increased over time, grown heavier, more intense. John took to each scene beautifully, spanking, caning, his body twisting in pain and pleasure for each one, writhing when Barsad plucked over his nipples or delivered a more rare smack to the crotch of his most often clothed lower body. More than once, after an intense session, Barsad could see the way his boy's cock leaked out precome that soaked through his denim. Barsad was glad that he wore looser pants to any session, not wishing John to see just how much playing with him affected him, as well.

_____________

“ _Go ahead,” Barsad had chuckled quietly. John was sitting in the corner of the sparse room with him while he sipped a water bottle and got his head back into the right place. Barsad had wrapped an arm around his bare torso, to ground him, and to feel the compression marks left behind by the wrap he had knotted around his entire body earlier. It had been hard to simply relax, though, when John could not stop squirming. “It is not as if I don't know that you don't even wait until you get home. Better here than the public toilets.”_

_John's ears had flushed bright red at the tips, a sight he had not seen even with all they had done. “I thought you weren't gay.”_  
  
“That does not mean I do not enjoy knowing the effect I have on you. And I have my own dick. It is not as though I am afraid of them.”

_That had gotten a sheepish laugh before John had unzipped his pants. His teeth had sunk into his bottom lip and his body arched back into Barsad's hold as he had stroked over himself. Nothing fancy; a quick, messy job that had had him whimpering and spilling into his fist in minutes. He had moaned contently, and Barsad had felt his own cock twitch traitorously when he had raised his come covered hand up to lick up the remnants of his deed._

“ _It's really a fucking shame you're not gay,” John had said, sighing as he had let his head drop back against Barsad's shoulder. “I—” He had seemed to stop whatever confession had been on his tongue and instead had shaken his head. “Guess I'll just keep having to get my dick elsewhere.”_

_That had made Barsad's grip tighten against the rope marks on his wrist. It was not as if he had had any control over John outside of their play... but at the idea of him bent over for someone else, a flash of bitter jealousy and possessiveness had streaked through him._

“ _O-Ow, hey. What's wrong?”_

“ _Nothing.” Barsad had stopped, stroking his fingers in apology over his wrist. “You use protection, yes?”_  
  
John had snorted. “Yes, sir.” He had stopped, then, and twisted in his arms a little. “Does it bother you? I mean they're just one night stands, and it's just vanilla sex, we—”  
  
Barsad had stopped him. He had been being unfair in his own mind. “I feel possessive of you, but you have every right to seek out sexual gratification elsewhere,” he had assured him until he settled again.

“ _If you were into guys... Would you?”_

“ _If the circumstances were different? Yes, I would.”_

_____________

Since then, their sessions had often ended the same—John's hand over his cock, stroking himself off in front of Barsad, but nothing more. Nothing like what John was receiving now. This, this was throwing his boy for a loop. When he rested his hand over his chest, Barsad could feel his heart racing under it. The proposition to take this to his home tonight had been met with surprise, along with a hesitant but eager nod. On the way over, Barsad had been possessive, his arm hooked around John's waist as they rode in the taxi. He had pressed his mouth to his ear and whispered dark promises of each pain and pleasure he would give him until his boy's eyes had lidded and he had sunk more and more into Barsad's hold, already deep in his sub space when he led him up to the small apartment and had laid him out on the bed. John had barely even glanced around, the lack of inquisitiveness a clear sign that he had not been in his usual frame of mind.

“You have been very well-behaved for me.” He took John's wrists and brought them together over his head. He pressed them into the mattress firmly before he let go, a clear sign that he was not to move them. “You have made me very pleased with you.” Barsad gave his cheek a short, sharp smack and chuckled at the way it made John gasp and arch.

“T-Thank you, sir.” He licked over his dry lips eagerly, his stinging cheek nuzzling against Barsad’s palm.

“I am going to spank you with the hand you're so busy trying to kiss. I am going to make you cry, tonight.”

A sharp gasp filled John's lungs, and he daringly placed another kiss to the tips of his fingers in gratitude. Spanking was more rare than the cane, the paddle, or any of the other tools that had been used on his body. Barsad knew he preferred them. He did, as well, in some ways. It was more intimate. It was also why he avoided it in favor of other things.

“Thank you, sir,” John repeated, meaning every word even as he squirmed on the bed in anticipation.  
  
“Do not move.” Barsad ordered it sharply, satisfied when John froze, not even a breath leaving his chest. He chuckled before he slid from his body.

John took orders well, responded to commands, but it was no secret that what he enjoyed best was being manhandled. So when Barsad brought the thick black cuffs over and tossed them onto the bed for John to see, he did not tell him a position to enter. He merely grabbed his hips and flipped him onto his belly with a rough jerk. The rapid motion nearly made John squeak, but he recovered quickly when Barsad yanked his hips up into the air, forcing John to scramble onto his hands and knees.

His hands dug into the waistband of John's jeans, and he pulled at them roughly, leaving more than one scrape against his thigh as he forced them down to his knees. John only moaned for it. Jeans usually stayed on as an additional layer of torment, Barsad enjoying how his precious cock tried so hard to swell up for him while trapped away in those tight confines.

It was also safer. The tempting curve of John's ass was all the more visible when he peeled his briefs off next, his cock practically popping out from them to hang heavily between his legs.

John's quiet 'thank you sir' came without prompting. He knew how much he was being spoiled. Barsad only responded by cuffing his ankles together, snapping his fingers impatiently until John quickly scooted so that his wrists were within reach as well, afterwards cuffed together to his ankles

“Ass up, boy.” Barsad's voice was a short, impatient order, and it was obeyed with a clink of cuffs and a quick upward tilt of John's hips. He was putting himself on display in a way that a weaker man wouldn't have been able to resist. As it was, Barsad's cock had a tough time with the idea that it wouldn’t be involved.

He cupped his hands just a little, just enough that the first sharp spank down onto John's ass cut through the air, the slap sure to be heard through the thin walls of the apartment. His apartment was just outside of Gotham's limits, but still cheap enough that his neighbors would know exactly what he was up to.

“Do you want the whole block to hear you whining for me, John?” Barsad never wasted his words or time with John. They both knew exactly what they wanted, now. John needed a touch of humiliation with his pain and submission, not a lot, just a hint of being caught, the idea planted of people around him knowing just how much he loved this. “Don't you dare bite those sheets.” He clicked his tongue and his hand smacked down again, slapping over the flush of pink he had left behind before. “Let them hear you.”

John's cries were beautifully unchecked, then. Barsad spanked him with a precision he gave to all of his tasks, layering them over John's skin, down the backs of his thighs, between them. John thanked him for them, begged for them to be harder, sometimes just chanting his name again and again as his hot breath and sweat from his skin dampened the sheets.

It was the sudden, sharp rake of nails down his raw skin that finally broke John down into the tears Barsad had promised him. Barsad could just barely see the wetness in his eyes at their angle, a single drop leaking and soaking into the sheets. It was a beautiful gift, all of John's vulnerabilities given to him.

“Sir, p-please sir.” John rubbed his face into the sheets to wipe away such incriminating evidence. Whether it was for more or mercy, neither of them ever truly knew, and it was only Barsad who would get to decide which would be given that night.

No mercy.

He pulled his belt from his own pants, knowing the slick sound of leather tugging from the loops was certain to be heard even as John struggled to tilt his head and look. It was looped twice in his hand, the worn edge rubbed up slowly between John's legs, cool slickness against raw red.

The snap down stopped whatever John had been about to say. A pained cry was wrenched from him, instead.

“Count them.”

Barsad gave him five to each cheek, crisscrossed one over another until he can see the beginnings of welts, and John began crying between each stuttered out number. A wrecked sob made his body curl as much it could while bound. Barsad finally let the belt drop onto the bed beside them, no longer needed. His fingertips went to John’s body, and he could feel the heat radiating off of John's abused skin before it was even touched. The gentle stroke of Barsad's fingers down his thighs got an uncertain hiss. He tugged lightly at his skin, a pained groan pulled from John until his touch turned gentle, again. It was hard to ignore John's cock, hanging heavy between his legs, just as much exposed and offered up as John's tanned hide. Barsad dragged a single slender finger down his balls, his finger-pad drawing a half circle around the base of his dick.

The sudden choked-off gasp from John was warranted. In all of this time, Barsad has never once touched his cock.

“Si-Sir?” John’s thighs were shaking with strain, and Barsad made a soft hushing noise before his hand smacked down on his inflamed cheek. Another whimper left John.

“Don't worry about it, John. Don't,” he ordered, and John was deep enough in his headspace, buzzed out on a cloud of stinging pain and pleasure and endorphins, that he obeyed. His breath was punched out of his lungs and his pinkened thighs worked to spread past what the cuffs would allow when Barsad let his rough knuckles rub little circles from the root of his cock to the tip. His thumb and fingers spread his rosy cheeks, showing off his ass more, the peek of his hole, as Barsad just barely brushed his thumb against the furl of sensitive skin around his rim.

John was the epitome of sin, then, a temptation of pure indulgence. A year of dedication to his brother was nearly burned up in smoke by the thought of how he could take John right then. He could slick up and sink inside of him then and make both of their dreams come true. He could feel his cock twitch at the thought of how easy it would be, how John would clutch around him desperately, wanting every inch Barsad had to offer.

It was a thought he had to shake off quickly. He could feel the burn of his own muscles, as well. Spanking John was a considerable workout, as he instead smacked his hand down again, little slaps that must have stung so badly with the deep red and streaks of purple bruising that dappled John's skin. His other hand twisted slowly over his cock in tandem, his fingers touching the wetness gathering at the tip of John's cock as he writhed under him, confusion over this sudden change between them warring with the pleasure of getting what he had wanted for months, perhaps since their first meeting.

“Go ahead, boy.” Barsad smiled as he said it, the orders gone for a moment and replaced with fondness. “We both know what you want. Come for me.”

No other encouragement was needed. John's orgasm had him shouting hoarsely, his entire body trembling in his bindings. Barsad watched as his toes curled and uncurled slowly. It was that final touch that made him smile more. His hand rubbed the small of John's back, well clear of where he had marked John with his hand.

“You did so good, boy,” Barsad whispered as he continued to rub soothing circles. “Hold still, let me get some lotion.”

John was still breathless, dazed and struggling to speak. “Why did you—”

“I just wanted to give you something special. You've been really good for me.”

The praise made him hum out, the corners of his lips twitching up slightly as he closed his eyes. He was still in his subspace, and knew Barsad was still in control, that he would take care of him then, and put him back together. His fingers tapped over John’s spine before he shifted off of the bed, the creak of its springs bringing a sense of normality to the room.

He didn't bother to warm the lotion, knowing the chill would sting but then be a blessing. He coated John's ass and thighs until they were glossy. A light curse was mumbled as he worked open the cuffs with slippery fingers.

“You don't want me to head out?” John asked softly when he was finished.

“No, you promised to spend the night,” Barsad reminded him as he laid down next to the boy, helping him gingerly shift onto his side. “You get some sleep.”

“I know you're not... that that was for me... Thanks,” John murmured.

Barsad didn't answer, just draped a blanket over him and rubbed a hand over his hip, waiting for the boy to sleep, blissed out and content. It was only when he could hear John's heavy breathing that he let his own guard drop. He sat on the edge of the bed and scrubbed his hands over his face. Asking John to stay had not merely been a sentimental request. His apartment was indeed outside of Gotham's danger zone, past the bridges. In fact, they could have been seen, then, from the window, of course. He had been studying their structures for months, along with all of his other work.

John continued to sleep soundly as he looped the time-released cuff around his wrist, fastening it to the sturdy bedpost. Barsad swallowed slightly at the sight of it, of John's vulnerability with him. His thumb rubbed a slow circle around his thumb before letting go.

He could admit to himself that all of it... It had all been a goodbye. That he had wanted to spoil his boy before he had to let him go. He hoped that John would move on from this, that once he was released, he would read the letter Barsad had left tacked to the door and take it to heart. He deserved someone who would give him the things he needed, that he deserved.

He would be angry, hurt. Of course he would be; who would not? Barsad hoped he directed his hate towards him and not himself. He should have let go of the boy months ago. He should have never let himself get so close that seeing him there, tucked into the blankets, a little smile gracing his lips as he settled in contently, made his heart ache.

Barsad shook the thought off. John would live, be safe, and move on. That was what truly mattered, not himself, and if he pressed a kiss to that soft, sleepy mouth before he left, if he stroked his fingers over the skin of his cheek before he slipped on his coat and packed the last few of his important possessions, then that was no one's business but his own.

_Goodbye John._

_Hello Revolution._


End file.
